Type
by Zarius
Summary: "Question...why do some writers, or bloggers, on a whim to create, to gossip, sometimes write what would be construed as absolute nonsense, something without a plan, without an end game?"


**DOCTOR WHO:**

**TYPE**

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><p><strong>WRITTEN BY ZARIUS<strong>

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: Doctor Who is owned and trademarked by BBC Worldwide. No profit 'kay?<strong>

"Question...why do some writers, or bloggers, on a whim to create, to gossip, sometimes write what would be construed as absolute nonsense, something without a plan, without an end game?"

"Are you doing it again?"

"Doing what Clara?"

"We talked about this. At length. This is one of your paranoid episodes isn't it? You just about wrecked my date the last time. Had to pull myself together to salvage that one...just why is it even I'm pursuing happiness it's just to mop up the footprints left by your muddled issues?"

"Just answer the question"

"You want to know why people write?"

"No, no, I want to know why some people don't outline anything when they do write, they just let flow out of their heads, perfect sentence, perfect structure, but no perfect PLAN"

"You never have a plan, no wonder you're curious. Where are anyway?"

"We're the plan"

"Pardon?"

"TARDIS telepathic circuits. I hooked you up to them while your eyes were closed"

"I was having a moment of profound private reflection on a date _barely_ well done and you hooked me up to your grand old ship again?"

"Precisely"

"Funny...if I didn't know better I swore I read that, not heard that"

"Precisely"

"Hang on a minute...I've got no form. Usually in cerebral abodes like this, there is one, but there's no form here, no body, just the thoughts, and words, and white. Lots of white"

"It's the stream"

"Stream?"

"What we call the void between communication barriers...where structure is formed, sentences are born, and transmitted to the mouth from the base of the mind"

"It looks a lot like a word processor to me"

"Well it is a living machine we're hooked up to"

"It's a bit boring"

"And you wonder why the girl doesn't like you?"

"We're gradually building something up"

"So I can read"

"Read? But there's nothing there yet..."

"Opening doors in your mind, should all come spilling out in a tick"

"What? Run that back by me again just a bit"

"Stream of consciousness structure...whatever fanciful word or situation you can recall or create, will instantaneously pop up and I can take notes off of it"

"You're reading my mind"

"I'm reading words FROM your mind, there's a difference"

"No, no we are not doing this...it's a deep breath"

"A girl known for deep breaths should be used to depth"

"You are not using this stream to try my thoughts out on some basic processor...besides, what if you have to correct something?"

"I won't edit your thoughts"

"Good, because I am properly..."

"Properly what?"

"...Properly sure I won't make a typo"

"You're a teacher, English is one of your requirements"

"You're capalbe of speaking big words that don't roll off the tounge all too well with me, the class I teach picks that up to from time to time, I'll catch myself writing, and I'll have to recite from the dictionary"

"Tongue"

"Sorry"

"You spelt tongue wrong. And Capable as well"

"I said Capable out loud"

"Yes, but the stream recognized it as a typo"

"So as I think I have to type?"

"As you think, you do type. Now I need you ot be careful about what you say/type next"

"To"

"To?"

"You said 'ot', you meant 'to' , I heard you speak it out loud, but you typed it as 'ot'"

"Then it's locked onto me"

"Locked onto you?"

"Clara, it's of vital importence that you think about something else and pin it down here"

"You spelt importance wrong now"

"Clara, just do as told"

"As YOU are told. Doctor, what's happenin'?"

"Happening"

"I was spelling it like a scot"

"It does'nt recognize it as scots"

"But you're Scottish, and it's does'nt...no, wait, DOES'NT"

"Say it in small text. TARDIS processor does'nt recognize all-caps"

"Doesn't. That better Doctror? Shoot, another typo"

"Yes, you meant Doctor"

"DOCTOR"

"All caps again"

"Clam down Clara, I mean, CALM...no, no all caps...ok...deep breath...Doctor"

"Right, that's goo"

"Good"

"No, it's goo. The wee gremlin is doing its best to avoid becoming assimilated soup in the matrix databanks"

"What Gremlin?"

"An Alterion Gremlin"

"Ok, that isn't even a word"

"It's a species. Sentient Malware. Learned about them back on Trenzalore. Tasha Lem uploaded it into the TARDIS systems while she was taking you back to Trenzalore from Earth. Poor lass, even after all she'd been thorugh, could'nt quite rattle off the Dalek programming in her...darn, pretty sure I spelt two words wrong there, those are the sort of errors a toddler would make and I am not THAT young. Up here in the head anyway"

"So scanning my thoughts and producing them as text would do...what? Turn it into a gossiper? My daytime schedule could be a daytime soap for any Dalek or galactic-feared dirt addicts out there?"

"It can't handle less emotional clarity...that's funny, a Clara with no claraty..."

"Ok, a misspelt word AND a direct insult. I'm just about ready to pull out of this one...just don't type Oswald, don...

"Clara? Clara come on speak up lass"

"..."

"Three dots? Is that moarse code or something...am I spelling moarse correctly? morse. No, that's not it either. Oh blast, the Alterion is feeding on me...Clara, help me, and before you ask, no, I can't just tell it what kind of day I've had"

"You're more of an emotional basket case than I am"

"Yes, but it's Dalek temporal technology, it'll beam my dirty laundry across to wherever those pepper pig pots are hiding and we don't want them learning there's yet another bright 'young' face looking back at them..."

"!"

"Ah good, exclamation, that ,means the malware's ambushed you...look Clara, just tell a story, ripe with emotion...ripe with pain...let it all come out"

"Ok then...here's a story...the story of a boy who couldn't stop crying, something under the bed, as frightened as he is, and an elderly man who told that something there is a superpower that holds everything together even as it threatens to scatter all confidence and comfort to the far winds"

"It's working Clara, the telepathic circuits are clearing, the translation matrix is deciphering the cries of a thousand Kellious StarBlaze Dolphins"

"I wish it could hear that child...I wish it would see it...maybe it did...oh Doctor, he had such a bad day...and only that which terrifies us most, what makes us faster, grow taller, all that looked after him in the end...but that's the strangest thing, or not so strange if you got to know him...there is'nt a clear end in sight, to either his pain or what drives him to sustain it and grow taller because of it"

"Don't you see Clara? It's not the power of fear that is the malware's downfall, it is the power of love accelerated by the natural instinct of fear, a perfect pair of shoes you can dip your feet into and walk, no, not walk...everything's fast, you do more than that, you RUN. RUN Clara, RUN...or TYPE, yes, do that. A lot of typing"

"...!?$%^^?"

"That's my girl Clara, you're questioning the attack a lot, might have slipped a bit of a naughty word there or two, do you feel that your attacker has gone?"

"I think so Doctor, I don't...feel it anywhere"

"I'm getting no further typos on this screen"

"So that's the malware dealt with? I don't have to dish out the dirt on my date?"

"Nope. You can save that for our regular chats"

"There's nothing regular about our chats Doctor. Now can we please stop typing?"

"That's like telling yourself to stop thinking"

"That'll never cease that as long as we can keep _feeling_"


End file.
